Could It Be I'm Haunted
by Kariko Emma
Summary: Kakashi. Tsunade. Jiraiya. Sakumo.
1. Denial

**Could It Be I'm Haunted**

**Summary:** Kakashi. Tsunadé. Jiraiya. Sakumo.  
**Spoilers:** We'll make it there eventually. :) (Concerning Ji.)  
**Author's Note:** I'm so terrible at breaking up my work without a set purpose, if you haven't noticed. This is no exception, but I hope this has remote justice to it. (Great thanks to the song 'Best I Ever Had (Grey-Sky Morning),' by Vertical Horizon.) And probably...the best and greatest thanks goes out to the song, "We Know Where He Is," by the Del McCoury Band.  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Naruto. (However hard I may wish.)  
**Genre:** Mind-funk. I need to learn to just put this every time…:)

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1: **Denial**

(An Old Joke)

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"Jiraiya-sama,"

_You._

Yeah, well, a lot of people did that.

-

"Jiraiya,"

"Oh—hey Tsunadé! Oi, you been out lately?" _Hint hint alcohol._

Yeah, well, she eventually grew to like that.

-

"Sakumo…you bastard…" _Conversation._

_Dead._

Yeah, well, dead people sometimes get that a lot.

-

"Jiraiya!"

"Sakumo! Hey! You seen my pants?"

Yeah, well…we still don't wanna know about that one.

-

But that was damnedest thing these days. If he tried talking to another Hataké, he got all quiet like that. No he can't easily acknowledge anyone else because they tell Jiraiya he's dead! So what if he saw the body?! That doesn't make it any more believable; trust him. Ahaahaahaa—haa! Tsunadé, is that not funny?

"Jiraiya,"

"Oh—hey Tsunadé! Iwagakuré is playing today! Hahaha! I hope they don't _rock_ the court! Ahaahahaa!"

Yeah, well, she eventually put up with that.

But he was always like that. Such constance nobody could kill. Such laughter. Such victories over the defeats. Some people have that…that kind of muffled laugh, a fake laugh that came from the back of the throat. But Jiraiya…he could laugh from his own zori on up. And since that particular time, it became increasingly difficult.

"Jiraiya,"

"No—Tsunadé. Don't bother. I don't…hell I don't need any idioms—'cuz quite frankly I'm _already_ an idiot—and I…appreciate the gesture, but I don't need anything."

Yeah, well, a lot of people say that.

But what makes it harder is that they never mean it. At least not anybody she knew (though with the possible exception of Orochimaru). And of course that makes her job much more difficult. Cooperation was key. But…being a member of the medical corps, Tsunade's had just a little bit of experience with such indifference in the gravity of loss.

"Jiraiya,"

"What?"

He looked like he lost his bicycle.

She half-smiled. "It's not going to be ok."

_I know, so stop telling me._

"You'll…probably never get over this."

_Which really sucks._

"And…" carefully, she eased (sneeked) the cup of sake away from him, over to her side and out of reach. "You will have to deal with this."

"Hm…?" He finally looked to his left, first noticing his drink was gone. "Hey—" Then he saw her pick out a paper from a small folder on her left. He was confused. "What…what is that," And then he corrected himself. "Why you?"

"Because," she let him take the sheet of paper. "Everything's better coming from a woman," she winked. She turned away from him and decided to drink her own sake and count chopsticks until he produced a tangible response.

At first he objected. "No—no, I will not have this. It's crazy. No—" But then he couldn't help but take a second look at all the polite-looking ink. "No," But then a third, as it cordially invited him in. "No…" And then a fourth. Against his will he ruefully continued to read the lonely five-hundred and thirty-seven words.

Twenty-six chopsticks. Dear God how did they cram that many in that little tube? Tsunadé then idly wondered how many chopsticks could be made from one of those big trees just outside the edge of the village…

"Fourteen," Jiraiya burst into a grin as he finally found something to scorn. "F-Fourteen…!" Happy. Delirious. Disbelief. He started laughing, in such a way, Tsunadé wouldn't have minded joining in on. But sadly, it wasn't her joke. He laughed because it was funny. It was a huge laughter, but it was shaking in it's own sense. He could never keep still anyway. It was almost like he'd choke on it any second, but he kept laughing. (Because it was just _that_ funny.) "When I was—When I was fourteen, I was freakin' screwing with ev—" And then he remembered who he was talking to. "I was…young—ger," he corrected.

They were silent for a moment.

Suddenly, he pushed the paper back over to her, as if a little kid didn't want to sign up for swimming classes. "That's nice," he said. An old joke meaning it was pure bs.

She pushed it back. "It _is_ yours," she said. "In fact," she set forth on the counter the small folder, gently edging it towards him. "All of this is yours."

_I know, so stop telling me. And where the hell is my alcohol?_

"Jiraiya,"

"I want my saké back."

Yeah, well, people in hell want ice water.

But Jiraiya's case is only days old. Safe to say he's pretty much still in denial in his own way. And as far as he's concerned, he'd be forever content to stay that way. It's not like he can't find his friend because nobody died. Perhaps damn skeptical if you ask Tsunadé, but she won't pursue anything serious. Yes he saw the bloodstains. He believed they came from Sakumo…but Jiraiya also knows Death with a capital 'd' is overrated. So the next time anyone goes onto glory, don't say they died. The paperwork's just a pain in the ass. Safe to say…he just wouldn't believe it anyway. Jiraiya's friend. His brother. His _comrade_—which was an old joke meaning they despised socialism.

"Jiraiya,"

"Dammit I want my drink—" But he sighed, letting out some frustration. Getting angry with Tsunadé was the last thing he or anyone in the galactic population ever wanted to do. He didn't feel like bargaining or any kind of negotiation…how could you argue with the 'dead'? And Jiraiya doesn't buy into that whole depression crap; he doesn't get down that much. So all that leaves is acceptance—and he'd be damned if ever willingly did that. After all…what is there to accept? "Why me?" he accidentally wondered aloud.

Tsunadé's gaze drifted away from him to consider this. She could only think of the simplest answer, so she gave it. "Because you're you."

He continued to stare perhaps a little vacantly in the grains of wood and the random patterns they made. Well what a nice thing to leave him with. The past. "Well then I don't want to be me anymore."

"Jiraiya, if that were true…" she passed his cup back over to him. "You would be finished with this already."

He never gave her up that easy. "How do you know that isn't my first?"

"Because you're a bad liar."

Which was fair enough.

He took a shot of the all and powerful. "He always said the same thing," Jiraiya looked at the sheet again. "Bastard."

"Well then," Tsunadé rose from her seat, at first a little wobbly. She steadied. "I'll leave you alone."

He looked back to her. "Thank you, Tsunadé. I…I hope they paid you well."

She grinned. "You may be happy to know it was nothing less that what you'd expect from the Shiroi Kiba," They exchanged somewhat of a knowing air, and then she brushed aside the cloth with a feminine touch and walked out of sight.

He was left with a difficult task.

(Of finishing his saké.)

-

All the divine knowledge Jiraiya ever had came with him pre-packed and pre-sealed in him since the day he was conceived. He was pretty much immaculate until he found out he was born in bed with a woman. So then he kept on sinning like everyone else, but he was driven by a compassion to do otherwise. Go against the grain—try and do things right. (An old joke God laughed at.) He became a ninja—a legendary one at that—way back when, when all you needed to pass was a sufficient tolerance at the sight of blood. And then he met you. And together they grew up and became the askers and the answers for all the rest to follow. So—what if one day there is no question?

…there is no answer.

And so what if one day there is no answer?

…there was no question.

Well. It's a darn fine thing he's still in denial.

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	2. Anger

**Could It Be I'm Haunted**

**Author's Note:** This might be the weirdest thing you'll read of Jiraiya and Kakashi, but once the idea grabbed hold, it wouldn't let go…My next chapters will not be this…weird…as it's the only adjective I can think of. My style of JiraiyaxKakashi is probably slight AU to most people anyway.  
**Big big hugs and thankies **goes out to** Tahle**…for previewing this. THANK YOU!!!!

_Poe said: "We're doing everything we can, Blackwood. You're new to all this. Come along, we're going to Mr. Charles Dickens' place—"  
_"—_to contemplate our doom, our black doom," said Mr. Bierce, with a wink.  
_(From **The Exiles** by Ray Bradbury)

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2: **Anger**

(Pickwick Paper No. 6)

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Fourteen.

There were a lot of good people at so young an age as fourteen. Sarutobi-sensei, Tsunadé, hell—Orochimaru, practically everyone from squadron Lafayette; except him…And even if he cut that age in half, the result was pretty much still the same. There were a lot of people he looked up to growing up. (After all, at seven years old, you can believe in just about anything—he could choose to believe in a tube of toothpaste just because it sat on the counter all day. It'd never go anywhere on you, so it was ok.) It was an often radical, turbulent time, full of heroes—most of them fallen. But they fell gallantly, they fell honestly; they fell for what they believed in. Who can say that? Jiraiya wanted to die like that. (After all, at any age, Death with a capital 'd' never scared him.

(But it does change you.)

Seven.

-

A boy's feet shifted in front of the doorway.

Papers dropped from his arms as he slowly turned around.

_You._

_Me._

_God._

He stared at this horrid outline. If Jiraiya were Jekyll, you were Hyde. And hide you did (remember, Ji counts the countable)—that bright idealist of his must have failed to detain you long enough. What, was he too busy doing yellow, flashy things? Well it's too late to be all concerincus about it—you've got to say _something!_

…

_You…_

Only he was different. He was little. He was small. Chisai. Kawaii. (Probably wondering why a big lecher was on his knees going through his father's things in his father's room—though he should not very well define him as _lecher_, that's rude.) … (Maybe Charles Dickens would do, especially since he could be holding long-lost Pickwick Papers or something.) … (Then again, when did Charles Dickens grow that long a ponytail…?)

His difficult task.

(Of saying a name.)

"'C'mere,"

He barely moved his foot: "Whoa whoa stop," Jiraiya gauged the distance. "That's fine," (Because it was.) "Now…turn your head—sideways—yes,"

But it was still him. Jiraiya moved his head aside, hiding a tortured grin. Expertly, he did not sound at all amused. "That's fine, as you were," He proceeded to gather up the papers, quite aware of this lonely figure staring skeptical in the doorway. It was the damnedest thing. Could it be he was…haunted? For a moment it was an out-of-body, déjà vu experience. He could see himself, below, calmly picking up the papers, not bothering to put them back in order, possibly suggesting that they had such an order to begin with. Jiraiya smiles as he looks back in the cabinet. For all he knows, a chuunin caught him in the act. "You know…" he mused. "You're supposed to ask me why I'm invading this formerly sealed cabinet," he said as he removed more papers.

"Sir…why are you invading that formerly sealed cabinet."

Ticked. Well Dr. Jekyll could certainly tell. "No, you're supposed to ask it like a question," he smiled, briefly, at the absurdity of it all.

He took his time. "Sir, why are you invading that formerly sealed cabinet?"

"Well it's not really a cabinet if it's sealed, now is it?" said Charles Dickens. "More like a secret cubby if you ask me," But he wasn't here to debate aesthetics. He could leave that to the artist.

They were silent for a moment.

"You know…" Jiraiya sighed, pulling out another yellow piece of paper. Maybe he was feeling generous to give him a second chance. He was already being a literary ass, so why not let the kid be sure of it. "There's pride, and then there's dignity. Given these two alone…life is pointless. Pride—a man's failing. Dignity—a man's idealistic gravity. These two together…come straight from the depths of hell," To himself, he shrugged. "Give a dog a bad name and you can hang him with it," He paused for a moment. "Yes I broke a seal here, but only of necessity," He smiled to the wall. "I'm on a mission from God."

Yeah, well, everyone is.

(Especially at the age of fourteen.)

Well if it was one thing he was made embarrassed by, it was the question. Obviously this guy had some kind of penchant for those goofy, interrogative phrases as well as some kind of spontaneous advent for the dissection of aesthetics—as well as all things moral. God somebody give that guy Fordyce's sermons to go please. One thing, thought, was brutally obvious: Master Jiraiya was a very very bad liar. So he wasn't completely sure yet as to how his father might have been connected with this man, but the young one would have hoped Jiraiya had gotten his ass kicked to some extent. And since he wasn't exactly sure yet, and since this guy liked those goofy, interrogative phrases, let's try it. "Then permission to ask a question," said the lonely figure. "Honestly."

Well Dr. Jekyll still had not looked once to the mystic creation. "By all means—" obliged Mr. Dickens. "Enlighten me."

"Who are you?"

Jiraiya turned to stare at Kakashi. And then he looked away in an instant: Jiraiya descended from high orbit and suddenly hated his life. Give a dog a bad name and you can hang him with it. Thirteen playful little words to haunt them both for the rest of their lives. Was he really still alive? He felt a faint sting of a papercut. Must be. Damn. (That just really, _really_ sucks.) But he's a strong perverted sage. And _you_, you're just a remnant of the past getting some random, worn out advice. Once again, Jiraiya could turn the statements in on themselves and let them mean what he would want them to mean. "You know…" Jiraiya sighed, pulling out another yellow piece of paper. "There's things that are general…and things that are specific. What you just did was go with the general question to play it safe. Wrong choice. And you should remember never to ask leading questions unless you know the questions. Since you made a wrong choice, I will not answer your question," Jiraiya stuffed the last document in place. "But—however…" He closed the wooden doors as were and stood to face the figure. "I will say this…: I have just removed all evidence of the answer."

…

He always did love surprised looks, especially when they tried not to look as such.

"There. Now…" said the sage, finding it strange he still had the smile on his face. "What have you to say to that?"

He took his time. And in such a manner he hadn't seen in anyone since Sakumo, he further questioned, "Are you protecting your pride or your dignity?"

…

Jiraiya, just slapped in the face, started laughing.

Of course Kakashi didn't think it was funny at the time.

Oh but it was. Even after he stopped, Jiraiya was still grinning, genuinely still amused. It registered for one of those rare, lucid moments, of to whom he was speaking to. "You know, kid…" he laughed. "You may just prove them wrong yet."

It was only a couple days before he remembered hearing Charles Dickens's name mentioned again. Of course he'd heard it from sensei, but quite simply, that was that. For whatever the (possibly) weird doctor's intentions, pages were gone from the family name for good. Anger: don't you just love it when he takes it out on you. The real cheese of it all being to _his_ benefit. (But it was years before he remembered their _civil_ discussions...) Of course the eternal mystery was a little subdued by the simple fact that he knew the secret seal when _he_ hadn't. (Probably adding insult to injury.) Oh well. Give a dog a bad name and you can hang him with it.

Wasn't that right, Sakumo...?

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_Pickwick Paper No. 6 as written on May the fourteenth in the year of our Lord eighteen-hundred and twenty-seven by the tube of Sir John Toothpaste, M.P.C. who humbly stayed on the counter. Dedication goes out to good and dear friend Sir D.F. Floss, M.P.C._

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	3. Bargaining

**Could It Be I'm Haunted**

**Author's Note:** Finally, a semi-normal chapter! (I promise!) Jiraiya does some bargaining with, um, people in his life. Wow, this chapter is really really short, too. Sorry! There are only two more chapters to go after this one. (I promise! Lol) I hope I can write more JiraiyaxSakumo fics in the future.  
**Thank yous** to brokenwindow23 and Tahle for sticking with this. I promise this is pretty normal for once…yet short.  
**Tahle**…get going (when you have the time) on a new fic! (One that would make your Eng. teacher scream…XD…)

"_I know not all that may be coming, but be it  
what it will, I'll go to it laughing."  
_—Stubb, in Moby Dick

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3. **Bargaining  
****  
**(Commandeering of Angels)

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"So what will you do now?" she asked.

He smiled, thinking. "N…stay low, stay strong—stay single," he winked.

She scoffed. "That's just like you," she muttered.

He grinned. "Well there's nothing wrong with that, is there?"

"No…" she mused over her saké. "Not if you're still Jiraiya."

"And are you still Tsunadé?"

"A—" she stopped herself. "Wait. Is that a trick question?"

Jiraiya laughed.

Even Tsunadé smiled for a moment. But cooperation, that was key. "Hey," she said more seriously. "You know they want us in Kumo 'next week."

"Oh? Do they?" He grinned. "Well what a wild weekend we'll have!"

Tsunadé glared resolutely, like he still didn't have a chance.

Which was fair enough.

The cloudy, cursed, colorful Kumogakuré brought back so many happy memories.

-

"Let's call the Exorcist," he declared.

"…Aaand why would we do that?"

"Well think about it—besides him, he could try and save us!"

"You know, Jiraiya, I think you're beyond help…"

"N? What was that?"

"Nothing…nothing…"

"Well then, Sakumo, what would you recommend?"

"Let me try it," he said. So the Shiroi Kiba got down on his knees and suddenly grabbed the man by the wad of rope they tied across his chest. "Now tell us who you are, dammit, or the beans get it!!"

"NO!!" he shrieked. The man flailed his head violently and cried: "NOT THE _BEANS!!_"

Sakumo let him go and slowly stood, finally conceding. "You're right…he's delirious."

"Hold on a second…" Jiraiya was getting a sudden flash of inspiration. (Oh weren't those great.) "You mentioned the kidney beans—"

The man shrieked in the affirmative. "Oh please don't go…"

"—and then something about navy, red, and…'cotton'. What do you mean by this?"

"We have to go back…" the man murmured.

Jiraiya shook his head. "No, no, the beans—" Shriek. "—I'm talking about the _beans._"

"WE HAVE TO GO BAAAACK!!"

Again, Jiraiya shook his head, wondering if he could stop a migraine.

"We have to go back…" repeated Sakumo.

"N?" muttered Jiraiya, glancing at him.

"Kumogakuré."

The man shrieked.

Jiraiya stood aghast. He looked at Sakumo in wonder. "W-What? What the hell do you mean, 'Kumogakuré'?"

However, the Shiroi Kiba merely shrugged. "We're missing the ambush."

"…You're…" Jiraiya. Dumbfounded. "You're thinking about _that_ at a time like this?"

Sakumo was as serious as he could get. (This was such a great thing.) He was looking intently at the man. "He is, apparently."

Jiraiya transferred his gaze, not seeing how that man could be making sense of anything. The great sage looked back to Sakumo. "So how the hell you figure that?"

"Well…think about it: This nonsensical talk of beans…clearly referring to Bean Country which is providing support in Konoha's efforts. Cotton could refer to clouds as Kumo is kinda like one big cloud, and, well, you know."

…

"Or," declared Jiraiya, folding his arms. "Just a crazy thought—he could be talking about Kumogakuré. I mean…it would take a complete _idiot_ not to see _that_."

Sakumo blinked. "Well…yeah—I would have never thought of it."

"Oh no," waved Jiraiya. "You're always too modest."

Bemused, "Am I."

Ticked. "Always."

…

"Well then," he declared. "My good sir, do you know anything we don't know?"

Sakumo interrupted. "You mean other than what I can deduce?"

"Shut up. I never asked you."

Sakumo shrugged.

"Well?" Jiraiya prompted the man.

"The beans…" murmured the man. "T-two hundred and twelve beans…"

"What?!" exclaimed Sakumo. "There's only three squads over there! You're two hundred too many!"

"AH-HAA!" exclaimed Jiraiya in an air of understanding.

"What?!" asked Sakumo.

"So his_ is_ crazy."

…

"What the hell Jiraiya, " glared Sakumo. " You will do anything to prove me wrong."

"You're right, I would."

…

"NOT THE BEANS!!"

Jiraiya and Sakumo split their stares: "SHUT THE HELL UP!"

-

Well, it seemed this time, the saanin had to go back. What an excellent diversion, it was. Cloud country was exactly what the name implied: full of clouds from biosphere to stratosphere. The city looked as if it were floating on the green hills below; the jails weren't too great that he recalled, but the women were nice. But as he walked on ahead, the arrogance was always far from hazy, "Cleaning up another mess, Jiraiya?"

He was about to retaliate when Tsunadé oddly did it for him: "Shut up, Orochimaru."

Funny, she was always this blunt.

"Let's go," she commanded.

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	4. Depression

**Could It Be I'm Haunted**

**Author's Note:** (Yes. I did take a grueling half year of British Lit. Much was crammed into it, but I'm grateful for it. I just have to put them to rest somehow...) … (Heck, that's probably why I write so crappy!) … (And also with crazy-ness…) (And I'm very sorry for the grand pause; this story was probably writing itself until I looked up and realized what it was doing…)

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4. **Depression**

(Objects In Motion)

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Seven years later, there was a fall hidden somewhere in a fare-well summer. The leaves didn't change color, but there was something in the air that told you they would if they could. Jiraiya was never sure about those sneaky leaves...

But not even Mr. Dickens was aware of the gigantic gap of hope and sorrow that existed somewhere between three hundred and sixty-five days, a newly instated hokagé, and the space between a dog's floppy brown ears. As for Chesterton, there was no Sunday save for rest. Austen might have been confused as to manners, but being a master at irony, the feelings were mutual. And oh dear God, let's all hope Tennyson doesn't start bawling; he should understand the young Uchiha probably did enough of that for the both of them; can Tennyson say that? Marlow, all said and done, really is the only best man to recount the tale, but between the crybaby ninja, the Shiroi Kiba's legacy, their everything—the kunoichi medic, and Konoha's own Yellow Flash, which narrative uttered simply "one of us"?; granted none of us has the arrogance to assess it was "all so morbid. Succumbed to it, Shelley still doesn't get it, and if he could ever get past his penchant for the west wind, he should just heed the advice regarding Konoha's Yellow Flash and simply run first, think later. A good question might be that from a chuunin exam to the last will of Obito Uchiha, would Shakespeare blush…? Jiraiya, however was an entirely different matter—after all, he'd had seats in the front row, whether he liked it or not. Yeah, well—he supposed that's how it went.

Seven days later, it happened. For seven days later, Konoha met with tragedy of the worst kind imaginable. If Jiraiya could have given anything in the world, it'd been his life over his student's. What occurred was wrong on all shades of grey. He watched the funeral progression with a dismal, indifferent stare.

Jiraiya had better things to do.

So, he left for the hospital. Perhaps it was just as equally depressing and event, but he wanted to see if anyone was there that he knew. When he walked in, he knew it was going to be superfluously populated with medic ninja of every caliber. In fact, not one of them bothered to say hello had they known who he was. However he was always one to know his way (shocking). So, he wandered a little aimlessly, seeing the fraction of damage done to his Konoha.

Most of them were dying.

He knew this not only because a., he was on the lower level, b., they had irreversible damage, but of c., the arguments he heard in the white rooms over times of death. In short, it sickened him. Here there was a good Hyuuga, over there a brave Nara, and there, there was an Akimichi, an Inuzuka, a Yamanaka; a Fuuma, the two Umino, a decent Morino…He suspected the pained list grew longer every second. Jiraiya walked up yet another level, wondering where they were keeping the hopeful—whether they themselves had any such left or not.

He turned down a hallway and Jiraiya was surprised to see a young woman outside the door of a room. She was hot. He practically ran up to her, but before he could cough up a pick-up line, she was already asking (with good reason), "Oh! Are you family?"

"Am I ever!" he exclaimed.

She nodded inside the door. "He's still unconscious."

And looking in, Jiraiya was nearly killed.

It was Sakumo—oh no crap. Or was that _Kakashi?! _Oh dammit. Which was it?! _Arrgh! I really hate it when you do this to me!_

"I'm sorry..." she murmured, before walking away.

Jiraiya was still deciding.

He never heard the girl leave, much to his regret, and he certainly didn't register any other noise at the moment either. It used to be where there was war, he saw Sakumo there. Where there was an ambush, boom, there were there as if they were tagging along for the ride, gamboling at the game of war like Choir himself. Sakumo was always better at it than he was. He was such a sucky companion, in comparison. Jiraiya—a lot of times—got the girl and provided backup. Sometimes they joked and laughed until one of them got hurt—usually Sakumo—and Sakumo would tell Jiraiya to go and save his pride and his dignity and get the hell out of there before they come back for you. But Jiraiya never ran away, not once; and if he ever did leave Sakumo's side, it was just to get alcohol or find his pants. And besides, Jiraiya had one single never failing technique in dealing with Sakumo.

-

"'Eh, Sakumo_tsu?_"

…

He grabbed him by his collar. "And I told you…_NEVER CALL ME THAT!!_"

Jiraiya laughed in his face, or lack thereof.

-

"'Eh, Jiraiya?"

"Hm?"

Jiraiya turned around and saw his former master, Sarutobi-sensei. "Oh. How long have you been standing there?"

"How long have you?" he asked.

Jiraiya rolled his eyes of habit and shifted. "Long enough."

The former third lord looked on at the boy, "I've heard…they don't know if he will come out of it."

Jiraiya took a stab in the dark. "He must be, what…fourteen now?"

"Yes, I believe so."

Abruptly, Jiraiya turned away and started walking; grinning.

He had better things to do.

-

"So? What would you like to do?" He made a grand gesture. "I offer you Konoha."

She took in the sight of uprooted trees, claw-torn faults in random positions, and grandiose promises of 're-landscaping'. Well Tsunadé wondered how you could make a battlefield look any different. Days made no difference, so why should weeks or months or even a year? How was it possible to remove the smells and the tastes and the memory? No, hi daimyo, a big shiny monument and some flowers wouldn't fix this. Such a difficult task…of coming to terms, if ever.

"Oh really," she said, walking with him. "Well I've never been offered a city before," she played him. It was so old and predictable she almost wondered why he still tried every now and then. It's not like she ever fell for it. (Not that she ever_ tried_ to, either.) "Sorry Jiraiya," she said in the silence. "But I have…an engagement with someone else this evening."

"Oh…him," _The other dood who liked watching you all the time. _Jiraiya searched for the right word, oh 'stalker' is just _too_ harsh…

"Maybe," she smiled, playing him. "You jealous?"

"How could I be?" he said, "I have a grandson now, I'll never be lonely!"

"You…have a what?" She didn't quite catch that.

"My grandson; he has his father's eyes."

Still believing he meant Kakashi, she said, "His father's hair style, too."

"Yes—that too." He smiled, thinking of Naruto.

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Funny things happen at funerals…:

At least one person is absolutely mind-numbingly sad. (And if asked, they will always tell you they were fine before they got there.) Hence why Jiraiya doesn't like going to these kinds of things. It's not the sadness, it's just he was fine before he got there. Generally most people don't cry at funerals because generally, they are unburdened by memory. They only take comfort in thinking the one person's sadness must be their own. That somehow his tears meant my tears. That somehow her crying was my crying. Their grief was my grief if albeit you knew him like they did. Their loss a perfect equal minus of my own…

Jiraiya didn't like playing that game.

He never lost.

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**Author's um, side Note:** I really don't believe in 'Depression' as in the medical community; I said enough for it back in the first chapter. Obviously I must continue this stage-progession in the story, but I hope the last chapter will surprise you. **:)**


	5. Appomattox

**Could It Be...It's Finished?! :)**

**Author's Note:** Thank God it's over, right? Sorry doods! A big thank you to anyone that made it this far, I really hope you remotely enjoyed it. (All I got was Sadness and Sorrow! Lol!)  
**Disclaimer:** No, I do not own one scene in this… **:)**

"No greater love hath a man than he lay down his life for his friend. Not for millions, not for glory, not for fame…for one person. In the dark, where no one will ever know or see."  
-**Sebastian**; _Comes the Inquisitor_, Season 2, Babylon 5

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5.** Appomattox**

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Tsunadé's disposition went from bemused to sarcastic. Once she flirted with destiny, now she flirted with irony. With the world containing so much contradiction, she was more often out of fashion than out of material. "Shizuné!" she said. "I'm going to have to lower this hem again!" "Perhaps it will help your luck, Lady Tsunadé!" called the raven-haired apprentice. "Ha, oh I doubt that!" she lifted her foot fancifully. "These heels already don't match," she stated. Tsunadé stood tall and studied her reflection in the mirror. "Nothing ever matches," she conceded quietly.

Shizuné finally came around and peered in the door frame. "I'm sorry, what did you say Lady Tsunadé?"

"Oh—nothing. Nothing at all."

Since the death of the two she loved, that was her only range of emotion. So with a world like hers, you knew it wouldn't argue. So later, when a few old acquaintances doubled back for her, neither would Jiraiya. 'Of course he was never one to bargain with her; she was the only one that could break his heart (and mend it again). Tsunadé was a constant that way. _Constance…_she thought. _It's because…he was always there, wasn't he?_

He stayed with you that day when Nawaki died, the night when Dan died; when Orochimaru scoffed at you, when Sarutobi-sensei told you everything was a part of the pain of growing up, when your own family moved on when you didn't, when everyone else moved on and you couldn't; when everyone else told you it would be all right. Jiraiya never said anything so blatantly absurd. A secret soul of discretion, a good man who never bothered you after you bothered him. Such constance nobody could kill. Such laughter, and such victories over defeats. Supreme no. 1 hater of Tennyson—and never afraid to tell you of it.

He was always there, and she knew he would unconsciously teach Naruto the same lesson.

She could try searching for the right word, but stalker is just way too harsh.

Tsunadé's profession went from—well, whatever she was doing, to being Godaimé Hokagé. The only haunting she got was by the dim-faced elders who complained about who was or was not moving up in the ranks in their staircase game of who's-on-first. People like that deserved to be assassinated; not that she's suggesting anything…

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Kakashi was considerate enough to distract the worst away from her. Every little enraged client was one more chance he inadvertently directed their frivolous attentions to ousting him out of any possible chain of command. It was amusing to watch—from a distance. One had to figure it was just one of those bent stick—straight shadow kind of things.

"—Speaking of which, anybody seen Naruto…?"

Well, Jiraiya can't really remember when exactly he started writing. He just knows it happened by some freak prophetically predetermined event: a toad told him. And not just any toad. It was the great and grand…um, but more or less, a toad.

Yeah, well…stranger things have happened.

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"Well," says Pein to his lady one day. _Let's All Kill Constance.  
_Amégakuré;_ where another set of generals carried out years and years of unrest and no peace.  
_

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_Amégakuré:_ where you can't have the rain without the clouds.

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"It's quite a story," said Sakumo.

"Damn straight," beamed Jiraiya. "And more than half of it's true!"

He laughed wearily. "I'll second that," he nodded, sliding the manuscript back over.

Jiraiya took it and watched as he leaned back and folded his arms, staring off at something unseen. Ever since the day she died, Sakumo's eyes were dulled to a measure of raw graphite, as if they held no further interior. Jiraiya didn't like it, and he certainly didn't like the falsified façade of an exterior Sakumo had learned to promote. No, Jiraiya didn't like it at all. So that's why he learned the joke of the day. (How many ANBU does it take to screw in a light bulb?) That's why he repeated the dumb things his wide-eyed idealist did. (Today he gave back the jounin registration form because it already had a name on it.) … (Smart-alec.) And that's why Jiraiya looked even more optimistic than usual—which fit well since he was younger. (ZOMG! A butterfly!)

However, that nonchalant naïveté was the biggest mistake of his life. Six years later he knew he should've been gung-ho for doom and gloom. Maybe then he could have gotten through better.

"Two generals," mused Sakumo.

Jiraiya looked up.

"Where the hell you get the idea for two tired, old generals?"

"Oh it just came to me."

"Really." It wasn't a question. "Sounds a lot like Kumogakuré."

"Perhaps," Jiraiya grinned.

"I mean, not that the 'Lentils' were any hint."

"Of course not."

"And then there's the little quirk of not spelling half your words right."

Jiraiya blinked. "_Hey—!!_"

"Seriously," Sakumo looked at him. "There's no 'y' in 'liberties'."

"Oh go away!" Jiraiya shifted, consoling the manuscript in his hands. "Repress someone else!"

Again, Sakumo laughed. "Why the hell did you need to use that word, anyway?"

"The liberties of the body are just as important as the liberties of the soul."

… "Don't you mean _fa—_?"

"Oh you're sick."

"But you're twisted."

…

"Agreed." They said in unison.

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_I know who you are…_he thought. _I know who you are…!_ But the sudden hell-hole of pain told him to keep Pein a secret.

Jiraiya would not settle for that.

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"—come on, don't say that! I thought it was great!"

Coming from a man who did all those goofy things…

"Each chapter really seems like a page out of your own life, sensei. It reads almost like an autobiography."

"Yeah, but…this one didn't sell at all. Maybe I should try and sex up the sequel a little…that's my real forté, after all."

But Minato continued, "The way the protagonist refused to give up, even at the end…That was really cool. He's just like you, sensei."

"Heheh…" he was blushing. "You think so?"

"Actually, I was thinking…"

Jiraiya looked up.

"We want to raise our child to be a shinobi like the one in your book!"

_WTF?!_ Well, ok, he was just surprised, very surprised.

"That's why we've decided to name him after the main character in your book. What do you think?"

"A-are you sure about this? It's just a random name I came up with while eating some ramen—"

"Naruto…It's a beautiful name," smiled Kushina, walking in on the boys.

She always looked beautiful. "Kushina…" Eternally. "Hahaha…" he recovered, "If I name him, that makes me his godfather, right? Are you sure you want that hanging over your heads?"

"Absolutely!" said Minato. "You're a man with true skill…An example we should all follow. I can't think of a finer shinobi than you."

No one could.

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_They have to know…_he thought. _They have to know…!_ But the blood he was transfusing to the earth wished to persuade him otherwise.

Jiraiya would not settle for that; he didn't settle for a lot of things, actually.

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So…what was the secret to defeating Pein…? Well…Give a dog a bad name, and you can hang him with it.

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"What…what is this?" he asked Kakashi-sensei.

"It's Jiraiya-sama—coming to terms."

"But…why does it have my name on it?"

"Exactly."

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Tsunadé was back to being deflated and heart-broken. The lady Tsunadé was at the memorial for the third time that day, suffering from the largest condolence-syndrome she'd endured in quite some time. She hated it, pretty much like always, especially since at first she didn't believe it. Of course Naruto was still shy of it, but he'd come around eventually—of that she was sure. However, her inner demons nagged at her all too painfully, regarding the one, the only she knew she loved the most. Tsunadé wasn't sure she could deal with it this time. She looked at her reflection in the grey stone and saw it was fading fast. This could be it.

Then, Tsunadé suddenly froze. She saw another hazed reflection move behind hers. And as she turned around, she saw it was only Kakashi.

Well good.

She'd been meaning to speak with him.

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_So you sailed away_

_Into a grey-sky morning_

_Now I'm here to stay_

_Love can be so boring_

_What was it you wanted?_

_Could it be I'm haunted?_

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-Caliko


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